


Angel With A Shotgun

by whalefairyfandom12



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF), Supernatural
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 23:04:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7660459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalefairyfandom12/pseuds/whalefairyfandom12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dan is rescued from Hell by a creature named Philip, who claims to be an angel of the lord. Except angels don’t exist, and if they did Dan would be the last person they’d save. Or the Supernatural AU no one asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel With A Shotgun

    Dan Howell is certain of three things. He’s a Hunter–always has been and always will be, Bert and Ernie are gay, and angels don’t exist. He’s ganked more monsters than he cares to remember, creatures that would send most people running to the hills. He’s seen demons and vampires and wendigos; he’s even been to Hell for fuck’s sake, but in all his time as a Hunter he’s never seen any sign that God or Heaven or angels exist.

    From the time he was small Dan’s mother had always told him that angels were watching over him. It was a nice thought, but in reality was a load of bullshit. Angels hadn’t stopped the demon that killed her, and they hadn’t lifted a finger throughout any of the shit that followed: Dan’s father, John, becoming obsessed with revenge and neglecting Dan and his younger brother PJ, his eventual death, PJ being kidnapped by the yellow eyed demon and killed, Dan selling his soul, and his subsequent trip to Hell.

    After being ripped to shreds by a bunch of hellhounds, Dan had pretty much figured that was the end. He’d gotten into (and out of) a lot of shit, but death was well, death. When he’d woken up buried six feet under inside a pine box and with a handprint shaped scar on his arm, he’d been surprised to say the least. Both PJ and Chris had denied that they’d had anything to do with his resurrection, and Dan had been inclined to believe them.

    They’d enlisted the help of the psychic Pamela Barnes, and learned that a creature named ‘Philip’ was responsible for pulling Dan out of Hell. When she’d tried to see it’s true form her eyes were burned out of her skull. Even the demons were terrified of whatever this thing was, leading Dan to have the brilliant idea of whisking Chris away to summon it. He left PJ back at the motel; he’d already sold his soul once to bring him back from the dead, he wasn’t exactly itching to do it again.

    “Are you sure you did the ritual right?” Dan asks. Chris gives him a look, arms crossing and glare deepening. Dan holds his hands up in surrender, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Chris hated his abilities being doubted, but they’ve been waiting in the barn for the past half an hour and this ‘Philip’ is still a no show. “Sorry, touchy touchy huh?”

    Chris opens his mouth to retort, probably with something along the lines of _you try summoning an omnipotent being and see how it goes_ , but before he can speak a clatter shatters the quiet. The boards in the ceiling of the barn come unnailed and start to move, smacking against each other with a crashing sound.

    Dan leaps to his feet, his fingers curling around his gun. Chris stands beside him, the two exchanging a grim look. “Wishful thinking,” he says, “but maybe it’s just the wind.”

    The lightbulb behind Chris explodes, sparks falling to the ground as the rest of the lights shatter almost in unison. Dan ducks instinctively, turning as the lock snaps and the doors begin to open. The silhouette of a man appears, continuing past the doors and walking towards Dan. He raises his gun, panic starting to flicker as the man bypasses every one of the traps they’d set. He only hopes they have something that’ll kill it.

    Chris starts firing his gun, and Dan quickly mimics his actions. He empties the clip in ten seconds flat, but the man seems uneffected. They share a look of ‘we’re fucked’ before Dan drops the gun and grabs the knife. The man draws closer, regarding Dan with a curious expression.

    Dark, unruly hair frames pale skin and eyes bluer than any Dan’s seen before. He’s wearing a suit, a tan trench coat unbuttoned and dangling past his thighs.

    “Who are you?” Dan asks warily.

    “I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.” The man’s voice is deep, a low sound that carries without needing to be loud.

    “Yeah, thanks for that,” Dan says sarcastically. He pulls out the knife from behind his back, moving fast as he stabs it into the man’s heart. He steps back, watching. The man looks down at the knife, a smirk playing on his features. With one, careful deliberate movement he pulls it out. The blade clatters as it hits the ground.

    Dan’s had a lot of moments where he’s been convinced he’s screwed. This one takes the cake. He locks eyes with Chris, who swings a blade at the man’s head. Without looking, the man grabs it and turns, touching a hand to Chris’s forehead. The Hunter collapses, and Dan’s legs knock against the edge of the table. His eyes dart to Chris–if he’s dead Dan’s going down swinging.

    “We need to talk, Dan.” The man’s eyes flicker to Chris before meeting his. “Alone.” The man’s gaze drifts to the table beside him, and he picks up a scroll, eyeing it curiously. Dan takes advantage of the distraction and drops to his knees, pressing a two fingers to Chris’s throat. He’s relieved to find a pulse, and he feels himself relax slightly.

    “Your friend’s alive.”

    Dan fights the urge to snark back _no thanks to you_. “Who are you?”

    “Philip.”

    “Yeah, I figured that much. I mean _what_ are you?”

    Philip’s eyes lift from the paper. “I’m an angel of the lord.”

    Dan stiffens, searching for any hint of dishonesty in Philip’s voice and coming up empty. Their eyes lock, Philip’s gaze unwavering. None of that still didn’t mean he was telling the truth; any lunatic can claim to be angel and believe it. “Get the hell out of here.” Dan rises to his feet, making sure Chris is behind him. “There’s no such thing.”

    Philip doesn’t seem offended. His voice is steady when he finally speaks again. “This is your problem, Dan. You have no faith.” Lightning flashes, striking somewhere outside as the shadow of giant, black, wings appear behind Philip’s back. They disappear in a crash of thunder, an almost smug glimmer flashing in his eyes.

    Dan swallows. Maybe he was wrong on the whole ‘angels aren’t real’ territory, but they were still alien creatures. Still monsters. “Some angel you are,” he says. Pamela’s expression of sheer agony cuts through every other thought chasing through his brain. “You burned out that poor woman’s eyes.”

    For the first time, Philip’s expression betrays a hint of regret. “I warned her not to spy on my true form. It can be…overwhelming to humans, and so can my real voice, but you already know that.”

    Dan’s mind flashes to the scratches on his arms, and to the shattering glass and high pitched ringing. “You mean back at the gas station and the motel.” Philip dips his head. “That was you _talking_? Buddy, next time? Lower the volume.”

    Philip’s lips thin. “That was my mistake. Certain people–special people, can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong.”

   When possibly facing the final moments of his admittedly shitty lifetime, Dan’s first defense has always been sarcasm. “And what visage are you in now, huh? What, holy tax accountant?”

    Philip glances down at his trench coat. He fingers the edges of it, pulling it aside. “This? This is a vessel.”

    “You’re _possessing_ some poor bastard?” Maybe he was a demon after all, they had to take hosts and Dan was sure there were ones of varying power. He must’ve lucked out and gotten Satan or something.

    Philip looks miffed. “He’s a devout man, he actually prayed for this.”

   Bullshit. “Look pal, I’m not buying what you’re selling so who are you, really?”

    Philip’s head tips to one side. “I told you.”

    “Right,” Dan says, making sure each word is dripping with an extra layer of sarcasm. “And why would an angel rescue me from Hell?”

    “Good things do happen.” Philip takes another step closer, and if this were anyone else and any other situation Dan would tell them to back the fuck up.  

    “Not in my experience.” A note of bitterness creeps into his voice.

    “What’s the matter?” Philip tilts his head, surveying Dan with a gaze as blue as it is intense. His eyes widen with revelation a few moments later. Whatever the angel’s about to say, Dan doesn’t think he’s going to like it very much. “You don’t think you deserve to be saved.”

    Dan grits his teeth, willing himself to stay silent. Punching a monster (albeit a self-righteous dick) was hardly the best way to stay alive. “Why’d you do it?”

    Whatever hint of sympathy had been on Philip’s face disappears, and the self-righteous tone makes a comeback. “Because God commanded it. Because we have work for you.” Dan holds his stare, hands fisting and unfisting at his sides. The hell is he supposed to say in response to a statement like that?

    Philip’s chin lifts, as if he’s listening, waiting for further instruction. “We will contact you when the need for your assistance arises. Goodbye Dan.” There’s a flapping sound, like wings, and the angel disappears.


End file.
